Just a Few More Hours
by Suicix
Summary: Dean's art has been causing problems for him. It seems there's nothing for Seamus to do but stand back and watch. Post-Hogwarts, established relationship, slash.


"This is all wrong."

Dean pushed the piece off canvas off of the easel and onto the floor. He had barely painted a single line, but he just wasn't feeling it. Usually, he would live and breathe art, but lately, nothing had been working for him. He would sit for hours each day in the room, but everything he attempted to create seemed to fall to pieces.

It was originally supposed to be a bedroom, but as only one was needed in the flat, Dean had successfully converted the small room next to the lounge into his own art workshop. Usually the room was warm in both its temperature and the atmosphere, with a blow heater generously depositing heat around the room and as many lights as were achievable switched on so Dean was able to see whatever he was working on from every angle possible.

Tonight, however, the only light source was a small, dim lamp which stood on the desk, and any kind of warmth, literal or otherwise, was absent from the small space in which Dean crouched over his current efforts.

With a disgruntled sigh, he splashed what seemed to be almost a whole can of white paint over the new canvas. He was not pleased with the way his project in progress was going; he'd stay up all night if that's what it would take him to finish it.

"Fuck this..." Dean slammed the paint can down on the desk and subsided into the chair adjacent to it. He rubbed his eyes; sleep could not defeat him yet, he hadn't achieved _anything _so far tonight...

But the idea of sleep was so _tempting_. In fact, a part of Dean _ached_ for sleep more than virtually anything else; staying awake for over forty-eight hours was a difficult task, even with the large capacity of caffeine that his diet had consisted of for the majority of that time.

As he picked up another mug of coffee, the can containing the viridian blue paint and the jar of water used for mixing paints toppled over, and although the stain left was only modest, Dean was irate, swearing furiously under his breath. He thumped the coffee down onto the table the same way he had done earlier with the white paint.

Even the large creak that sounded when the door opened didn't turn his attention from the floor and the mess that was situated there.

"Dean?" Seamus poked his head around the door, looking in worriedly at his boyfriend, who was sat, incensed, at the table." Are you alright?"

Dean didn't answer.

Seamus stepped into the darkened room, shivering in his underwear for he had just come from a warm, snug bed.

"Come to bed, Dean," Seamus whispered, draping his arms around Dean's shoulders and placing a small kiss behind his left ear. When Dean still didn't move, Seamus inclined his head to the right to look at the painting.

"This is what you're working on?"

Dean nodded; it was the only kind of response Seamus had received from him since this particular project had begun.

"Well, I quite like it. With a few more hours worth of work, I think it could be great"

"Since when do you care about my art, Shay?" Dean finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"I-I've always cared about it. You know that. I like how happy it makes you."

Dean almost let a smile spread over his face, but then he frowned, and said, "Then don't you understand why I've got to get this done? – "

"I _do _comprehend the fact that you'd like to finish, but... you're overworking yourself, Dean. Over two days of staying in here, with no proper food, gruelling away at this... please just come to bed."

"You said I should work for a few more hours."

"Yeah, perhaps, but not now, OK? Now... you need to go to bed."

Turning his head to the left, Dean looked up at Seamus through bleary, bloodshot eyes. Seamus gasped inside; he wasn't expecting Dean to look so worn-out, so drained of all his usual energy and spirit.

"I don't need to," Dean declared, his eyes now on the easel that his canvas stood on. "Just a few more hours, a few more..."

There was an exasperated sigh from Seamus.

"Trust me. You do." He froze for a seconds, then uttered, "Please, love. I miss having you there, a lot..."

Again, Dean didn't say anything. He just sat, his head slightly inclined towards the floor. Realising there was nothing he could do about his partner, Seamus just shook his head and left the room, though he wished there was something he was able to do about Dean's slightly reclusive behaviour.

But of _course_ he wished there was something he could do – Dean seemed troubled, almost _disturbed_, and it reflected in his most recent artwork. Seamus wanted to ask what was wrong, what was disconcerting him, but each time he had tried, Dean would give a shaky laugh and hastily proceed to change the subject. This definitely abnormal, Dean had always been somewhat emotionally strong, Seamus knew that...

_What's happened to us, Dean? More importantly... what's happened to _**you**_?_

Seamus slouched across the hall into his and Dean's room. He glanced at the bed; Dean's side was made up, and the duvet was cold. It had been like that for days, days Seamus wanted to forget.

When he got into bed he left Dean's side as it was. Usually if he had the bed to himself he wouldn't, but with the events that were currently encasing the couple, he felt he shouldn't. He wanted Dean to feel _missed_.

Although he was preoccupied by what could be going on in Dean's head, Seamus found falling asleep was easier than expected as the bed was warm on his side, creating a sensation of drowsiness in him that overpowered the winter he felt due to the present situation.

However, satisfaction he did not feel as he slept. Contrarily, he felt empty. He would have much rather have felt cold and had Dean lying next to him than warm without Dean. After all, the warmth he felt was only physical – only Dean could feel the frosty void inside his heart.

* * *

Upon waking up, Seamus' immediate thoughts were of Dean. _Has he gone to sleep yet? Has he managed to finish? Most of all... Is he all right?_

This caused a panic to arise in Seamus' chest. He abruptly sat up, his breathing quickening. He was about to run out of the room to Dean, but then he saw.

He saw the dark-skinned man curled up next to him on the bed, both eyes squeezed shut, a small smile on his face.

Seamus couldn't help but smile too.


End file.
